The Next Larry Flynt?

Since the beginning of time, parents day dream about what their children will do for a living.  Will they be a doctor, police officer, tycoon or even a preacher.  A mother can only hope.  The Babe wanted to see want this whole kindergarten thing was about that brother keeps talking about.  In an effort to placate his curiosity, The Dad took The Babe to lunch with The Kindergartner the other day.  For those that are not privy to the inner workings of the elementary school lunch room these days, it hasn't changed since you were there.  Apparently The Dad was sitting with his boys at a long narrow lunch room table with about 20 other kindergarten aged kids the other day.  On this particular day, the lunch time convo steered toward the topic of movies.  In an attempt to include The Babe in the lunch time banter, a boy asked The Babe what kind of movies he liked to watch.  The Babe, without hesitation, looked at that boy and told him "I like movies that show ladies private parts".

WHAT THE?!

The Dad seems to think The Babe forgot The Dad was present.  As the table was recovering from the response to The Babe's declaration (apparently the group thought this was quite hilarious), The Dad looked at The Babe with surprise (what the...where...who...).  The Babe knew he was busted.  As his eyes welled up with tears he placed his head in his hands.

I got a call from The Dad the night of what I now call the "incident".  Although we were able to laugh about it, and I was able to say "better you than me", I had a number of thoughts swirling in my head:

• This is not one of those funny kid stories I can retell.  Think about it; if I retell this story people will wonder what in the hell I am letting my kids watch on TV.


• Why on earth would he say that?  Has he seen movies like this.  With whom?  Where?


• Well, I guess I know what he will do for a living.  Yay me...lifetime supply of adult entertainment.  As long as he is happy I guess.

 

Everything I need to know, I learned on the first day of Kindergarten

Last week I experienced one of many firsts; the first born started Kindergarten.  As you can imagine, it was a very exciting day for all of us.  The Kindergartner didn't think it was all that big of a deal really.  After all, he had been going to "school" for some time now.  In his mind, it was just a new building and new teacher.  The kid was calm, cool and collected.

The Kindergartner and I entered the cafeteria at the school with The Dad.  We were met by the soon to be step-mom and her daughter that is in fifth grade at the same school.  This was basically command central.  The principal welcomed all the new and returning students and offered some general info.  As The Dad and I walked The Kindergartner to his classroom, The Step Mom and Step Sis walked behind us.  The Dad and I held hands with The Kindergartner, at which time he tried to get The Dad and I to hold hands.  Ugh.  I play it off with desensitizing statements like "gross, your dad has cooties", and "that is The Step Mom's hand to hold, not mine".

We enter the classroom together and begin the transition.  Pictures, hugs, "I'm so proud of you", "have a great day".  The usual.  I asked The Dad if he would like me to take a picture of the three of them together.  He accepts.  He takes one of me and my big kid.  We all say goodbye and go our separate ways.

I had heard stories about moms and dads that get emotional on the first day of school for their first born.  I understand why.  I, however, was not emotional during this transitional moment.  That is, not until I got in the car to go to work.  It wasn't like someone turned on the facet full speed.  It was more like when you turn off the facet but you still have a slow drip.  As I sat in the parking lot of the school, I realized something.  I realized I was doing something right.    The Kindergartner has a lot of people in his life that love him and want what's best for him.  Although it sucks to see him loving on another woman like he does The Step Mom, it illustrates that he knows he can love both of us.  We were all there for him on his big day.  Together. Co-parenting.  I am not sure with whom I was more proud, The Kindergartner or us.

What Genitals and Religion Have in Common

Stick with me here folks.  I will hopefully make sense soon enough.

My parents taught me a lot of things.  Most of you have heard similar statements from your parents including, but not limited to:

• Don't point.


• Don't talk with your mouth full.


• Cloth shoes are for evening wear.


• The olive in a martini DOES count as a veggie serving.


• If you don't have something nice to say, keep your mouth shut.


• You get what you give.

Although my parents divorced when I was eight years old, they agreed on one thing.  Don't force others to see things your way.  Your way is not the only way.  This did backfire on them as I got older, when I could use the argument against them.  At that point, their work was done.  They had taught me to think for myself and allow others to do the same thing.

You might be asking yourself at this point, "Hey Red, what does this have to do with my God or my junk?".  Patience is a virtue my one lonely reader.  I am getting there.

As my mother's health declined over the last couple of years, I noticed her relationship with her God got stronger than ever.  My mother was a big believer in the power of prayer and believed her God answered every prayer.  Some will say those  fighting terminal illnesses tend to gravitate towards religion.  They need something, anything, in which they can believe.  I, on the other hand believe my mother already had a strong faith.  It was in this time of need that she was able to find solace in her faith.  She never ran around waving a self righteous flag.  She didn't have to, her God knew her heart.

I grew up near the church.  I don't mean it was down the street.  I mean that I asked Jesus to be my Lord and Savior a long time ago. I was baptized and forgiven for my sins.  We did not attend church every Sunday and Wednesday though.  I did not wear my faith on my shoulder.  My faith is something I consider to be very personal and private.  It is mine.  The other reason for my privacy with my faith is, frankly I did not want to be grouped with some of the zealots I have met on the road to redemption.  Most so-called Christians I have met in all my 34 years are the most judgmental and unforgiving souls I have ever met.  I found it ironic that the religion founded on forgiveness seems to be the least.  These people know a different God than I do.

My step-dad was a deacon in his church for years.  I listen to his stories about his time serving God in this capacity and I hear the cynicism in his voice.  He too, had a similar viewpoint as I do.  Too bad.  The church lost another good follower. His faith is still strong.  He and my mom walked together and shared their faith.  Funny thing though, I never saw him waving a flag either.

My father is a non-believer.  He was raised in a large Catholic  family and has his reasons for his viewpoint.  I don't try to convince him of my way and he gives me the same respect.  He does not mock the cross I wear around my neck and I do not tell him he is going to hell.  On the contrary, one day when our time comes, he will save me a seat in heaven and be the first to pass me a Schlafly.

I took the boys to church last Sunday.  No, I don't go every Sunday and that does not make me less of a Christian than those that do.  Hell, going to church makes you as much of a Christina as hanging out in the garage makes you a car. While are church, the boys enjoyed children's church while I listened to a sermon that could not have been timed more appropriatly.  Why does it turn out that when I finally show up, I hear exactly what I need to hear?  Do I make the sermon work for me or is God doin his job?  I will go with the latter...might make me go again.  I will continue to take the boys to church on occasion and educate them on all religions, not just Christianity.  Information is power and my boys will make their own diecisions.

Oh, and I will let them wear jeans when we go.  I am such a heathen.

You might still be wondering about your junk. Your religion is like your genitalia.  Don't shove either down anyone's throats please.  The world will be a much better place.

Making Her List & Checking It Twice

I am a list maker. When I was younger, I considered my lists some sort of indication of how productive I was. It was the best feeling ever when I could toss out the list when everything was done. As I have aged though, I have realized I accomplish something important each time I cross off a task on the list. My list is never ending and I am never really able to toss the list all together. I always find something new to add.

Not all of us are list makers or planners. Some people are comfortable just taking things as they come. For control freaks like me, this would never do. If I could, I would always know what to expect. I would walk into a meeting at work with an agenda in hand and the meeting would follow it to the letter. Unfortunately, this never happens.

I am like my mother in many ways. Most of which I did not realize, or admit, until recently. My mother is a planner. A control freak I suppose. At the very least, mom is a list maker. Even now, in her weakest state, mom is making a list and checking it twice.

While visiting DC last weekend, Mom and I were talking and the conversation took a turn. I had prepared myself for the conversation but was still caught off guard. She began her requests with the question “what will you tell my grandsons about me?” She continued to tell me she did not want them to think she gave up. As I began to sob in her arms, I told her I was about to tell her the hardest thing I will ever tell anyone. I gave her permission to go to sleep and not wake up. I gave her permission to find peace and not be in pain any longer. I reminded her that, if in fact, she chooses to close her eyes and not open them again, that it is just her body giving up and not her spirit. Her spirit will live forever in everyone she has touched.

Mom went on to lay out what she wanted me to have of her material things. She wants to write a letter to one of her stepdaughters. She asked to speak to my boys and their dad. With each request she made, she checked something off her mental list. With each item she checked off the list, a weight was lifted.

Much like when you have a rough day and can’t sleep due to restlessness, Mom needs a clear mind to sleep soundly for eternity. She continued her list of requests with asking me to take care of my stepdad. Check. She asked me to work on my relationship with my sister. Check. She asked me to raise my boys with God and not be afraid to ask for help doing so. Check. She told me to be true to myself in everything I do. Check.

Unlike the lists I currently make, Mom’s list will end. When I look at the things on my list now, they all seem so trivial. Oil change, haircut, car tags, and cat food. My recent conversations with Mom have made me alter the things on my list a bit. Sure the things to do things to get done at some point, but I have added a few things as well. Call my sister more. Let the dishes sit until the boys go to bed. Write more. Sing louder. Talk more and text less. Nurture relationships.

Losing a parent is a part of life that some of us are lucky enough to avoid well into our adulthood. If I can find anything good about dealing with this in my early thirties, it is that I realize now, rather than later, that some things just aren’t as important as we make them. Just like kids growing into young adults, we all have to learn from our own mistakes no matter how hard our parents try to help us avoid making mistakes they made. My mother is still teaching me.

Making Her List & Checking It Twice

I am a list maker. When I was younger, I considered my lists some sort of indication of how productive I was. It was the best feeling ever when I could toss out the list when everything was done. As I have aged though, I have realized I accomplish something important each time I cross off a task on the list. My list is never ending and I am never really able to toss the list all together. I always find something new to add.

Not all of us are list makers or planners. Some people are comfortable just taking things as they come. For control freaks like me, this would never do. If I could, I would always know what to expect. I would walk into a meeting at work with an agenda in hand and the meeting would follow it to the letter. Unfortunately, this never happens.

I am like my mother in many ways. Most of which I did not realize, or admit, until recently. My mother is a planner. A control freak I suppose. At the very least, mom is a list maker. Even now, in her weakest state, mom is making a list and checking it twice.

While visiting DC last weekend, Mom and I were talking and the conversation took a turn. I had prepared myself for the conversation but was still caught off guard. She began her requests with the question “what will you tell my grandsons about me?” She continued to tell me she did not want them to think she gave up. As I began to sob in her arms, I told her I was about to tell her the hardest thing I will ever tell anyone. I gave her permission to go to sleep and not wake up. I gave her permission to find peace and not be in pain any longer. I reminded her that, if in fact, she chooses to close her eyes and not open them again, that it is just her body giving up and not her spirit. Her spirit will live forever in everyone she has touched.

Mom went on to lay out what she wanted me to have of her material things. She wants to write a letter to one of her stepdaughters. She asked to speak to my boys and their dad. With each request she made, she checked something off her mental list. With each item she checked off the list, a weight was lifted.

Much like when you have a rough day and can’t sleep due to restlessness, Mom needs a clear mind to sleep soundly for eternity. She continued her list of requests with asking me to take care of my stepdad. Check. She asked me to work on my relationship with my sister. Check. She asked me to raise my boys with God and not be afraid to ask for help doing so. Check. She told me to be true to myself in everything I do. Check.

Unlike the lists I currently make, Mom’s list will end. When I look at the things on my list now, they all seem so trivial. Oil change, haircut, car tags, and cat food. My recent conversations with Mom have made me alter the things on my list a bit. Sure the things to do things to get done at some point, but I have added a few things as well. Call my sister more. Let the dishes sit until the boys go to bed. Write more. Sing louder. Talk more and text less. Nurture relationships.

Losing a parent is a part of life that some of us are lucky enough to avoid well into our adulthood. If I can find anything good about dealing with this in my early thirties, it is that I realize now, rather than later, that some things just aren’t as important as we make them. Just like kids growing into young adults, we all have to learn from our own mistakes no matter how hard our parents try to help us avoid making mistakes they made. My mother is still teaching me.

"What's that smell... Yankee perfume?"

I was told recently by a family member in my home state of North Carolina that she was going to revoke my “Southern Belle” membership card. It seems, according to a family member that will remain nameless for their own safety, that the North has in a sense, tainted me.

Over the last fifteen or more years, I have moved back and forth between my Southern home and the Northland that somehow sucks me back like a pool vacuum trying to get the smallest piece of soot from the bottom of the pool…it is relentless. Like that last piece of pool gunk; I have finally given in to the pull that I cannot resist; my fate is inevitable. Although my changing ways were vividly apparent to my family; I denied the accusations that I was somehow being “influenced” by “those damn Yankees”.

The irony of the situation is that to my friends in New England, I currently live in Hillbilly Country. I try to remind them that just because we like our “throwed rolls” and our okra fried, it does not mean we are backward in any way. My friends in the first thirteen find it funny that I have to explain the difference between tin and ten to my children; not the actual definitions of the terms mind you but the way the words are pronounced.

Looking back, I suppose it started after attending school in Missouri.  I moved back to North Carolina where I announced in mixed company that I did not care for sweet tea. You could have heard a pin drop. That’s right folks; a pin, not a pen. The family blamed it on the six months I spent in Connecticut. I attributed it to the fact that I like my syrup on pancakes, not in a glass.

The hardest thing for my family to swallow is that I refuse to eat anything that I have affectionately named “geriatric food”. You know what I am talking about; meatloaf, gravy, and beans. These foods require absolutely no dental tools that should be used for consuming sustenance. I just have a problem eating food that I could drink through a straw. As you can imagine; the fact that I “suddenly” will not eat brown gravy was like personally going to the cemetery and rolling over every ancestor I have.

Fortunately, I was given a very short probation period. The committee gathered around the kitchen table while playing Pinochle, and after a heated debate on the merits of my home made pie crust decided I had not shamed the family enough to take my card just yet. I was given a strict diet of pecan pie, Sundrop Soda, and NC State. I think it is fair to say the punishment fits the crime. Now where did I put my Wolfpack sweatshirt?

Like a string on a sweater that you pull but you know better/But doing what you shouldn't is half the fun

Wordless Wednesday ~ Partners In Crime

Mom was Right...Again

When I was younger, my mom would offer advice about friend or boyfriend trouble. The one statement I remember her using a lot back then was "kill them with kindness".

I thought of this the other day when "she" did "it". Again. A woman I know, and respect actually, told me she didn't have time for blogs or reading other blogs. With a snide tone she chirped, "I wish I had that much time on my hands".

So I performed a little experiment the next time I saw her. I didn't say anything about the blog, but "my journal". You could say her tune changed. "Oh, I wish I did that, that is so great, the boys will love that one day".  What's the deal? What is the difference between my former hard copy journal and it's on line replacement? I am disappointed that this friend of mine, whom is normally very open minded, is so judgmental about this topic. She and I live similarly busy lives so I am not sure how or why she thinks she is better than me.  Maybe I am just better at managing my time.
I am curious if this prejudice is aimed primarily at work from home or stay at home parents. I am also curious if dads experience it as much as moms.

For now, I will follow my mom's advice. I will be the mistress of death...with kindness.

Nowhere To Run Baby; Nowhere to Hide

Before I actually visited a Hooter's restaurant I would have thought the place was a brothel where dirty old men sat drooling at young buxom women while they serve frothy beer in cold mugs.

Now that I have been to a Hooter's, I know that there are young men there too!

All kidding aside; our local Hooter's has great food. The boys love the grouper bites, I love the crab legs, and hubs loves the fact that we like the food. We have taken the boys there a few times in an effort to look less perverted, and always leave satisfied.

During our latest visit, we met Catalina. Catalina is a friend of our good friend Claudia. Claudia has just left to go back to Spain after visiting us for about a week. As you can see from the picture I took, hubs and The Babe are more than happy with the situation. Little Man, on the other hand is a little pouty. Seems Little Man has a new aversion to pretty girls. When Claudia came to visit from Spain I called to him
"Little Man, Claudia is here", to his response "Mom, I know", and then he ran and hid under his bed. My brother in law will bring his girlfriend over for a visit; where do you think Little Man will be found?

From the look on his face in this photo, you would have thought we popped the Hooter's balloon he had. He was just bummed there was no place to hide!

Absence Makes My Kids Annoying

My parents divorced when I was about eight years old.  Dad moved out but still lived in the city until a job transfer took him to St Louis and then Japan.  It seemed the farther away he was, the more I missed him. I try to remember that longing for my father when I see my boys missing someone they love.  Recently Little Man has been missing my parents more than usual.  Hub's parents live in town so we see them more often than we see mine. I regularly hear Little Man tell me he wants to go to Washington DC to visit Nana and Papa or drive to see Grand-daddy and Phi Phi.  I hear the two of them playing and pulling their suitcases behind them saying they are going to the airport to visit one set of grandparents or the other.

The other day Hub's brother came in from Kansas City for the day.  The trip is usually a three hour drive, but it took Uncle Adam about an hour to take his first solo flight at that distance.  The boys were so excited to not only see the airplane that their very own uncle flew, but even more to see Uncle Adam.  The boys have always had a fondness for Adam but his recent move to KC has strengthened their admiration.

We met Adam at the airport before he took off and the boys loved on him and looked at the plane.  Little Man helped Adam prepare for flight and then we all watched him take off.  The boys had a great time and I was so happy they got to see him but the aftermath of the visit lasted until they went to bed.

Before we even got in the truck to leave the airport:

The Babe: "Mommy, where is Uncle Adam?"

Me: "He is up in the air on his way home"

Little Man: "Mommy, where is Uncle Adam going"

Me: "He is going back home to see Amy"

The Babe: "I WANT TO SEE UNCLE ADAM!"

Little Man: "Where is Amy"

The Babe: "I WANT TO SEE AMY"

The Babe: "Does Amy have a puppy Mommy?"

Little Man: "Can we drive to KC to see Uncle Adam Mommy?"

Me: “Well, KC is kind of far honey"

Little Man: “You don’t know how to get there do you Mommy?”

The Babe: "Where is Uncle Adam Mommy?"

The Babe: "I WANT TO SEE UNLCE ADAM MOMMY"

Rinse, Lather Repeat.

I just stopped answering after a while.

We all miss you Uncle Adam.

Traditions

When I was a little girl I would go to the hardware store with my dad on the weekends.  Sometimes our trips would be for supplies for honey do projects my mom gave him, sometimes we just needed batteries, but most of the time I think Dad just wanted out of the house.  Whatever the reason was I really didn't care; I just liked hanging out with my dad.  I still remember my hometown Ace Hardware well and can visualize the layout.  The guys that worked there knew us by name and I usually left with some sort of treat.  My parents divorced when I was eight and Dad moved to the other side of the state.  These special moments with my Dad are the very reason I want create similar traditions for my boys.  A current routine for us is our Saturday morning breakfast at "Bill's".  Bill's is not the name of the diner, but the name of the owner.  This little local restaurant is a weekend retreat for many where they call you by name and know how you like your coffee.  The boys love Bill and his wife Julie and all the servers.  Bill will take the boys around kissing the old ladies and let them come behind the breakfast bar area to pour their own milk.  To top it off, the food is good and the service is top notch.  We usually see one or more of hub's old high school coaches in there talking about the weekend game and making bets on what positions our boys will play.  We leave with smiles and full bellies.

We went to Bill's as usual this Saturday but Sunday decided to give the boys an extra special treat from my home state of North Carolina. When hubs and I lived in NC, Missouri did not have an Krispy Kreme stores so we made a big deal about taking visitors there to get a little piece of warm heaven with icing right off the belt.  Since moving back to MO I tried to avoid Krispy Kreme at all costs.  It is kind of like going pee the first time after I have had a few beers, once I start I can not stop!

I did it for my children.  We drive up to the store and pull in the lot.  "The light" is on; they are hot.  We enter and each of us are handed a piece of the heaven I mentioned earlier.  No need to order now but we do anyway.  I am a fan of sprinkles so we get a couple chocolate sprinkle donuts and sit down at the window bar with our milks and coffee.  The boys decide Uncle Matt and his fireman buddies are hungry.  We order a dozen.  They hand us more off the belt.  I think I may explode.  We are walking out the door and I notice our dozen is now ten.  Do you think they noticed?

Sleeping Single In A Double Bed

Hubs and I have been apart from each other very little in the eleven years we have been together. We met at work and began dating shortly after and then he stole my spare key. Not one that likes to cook, I didn't mind the spare closet taken over when I found out what a great cook he was. We carpooled because we worked together and then we started a business together that allowed us to work from home...you guessed it...together. Some ask us how we do it. I ask how others don't do it. Going back to work outside of the home this month has been very strange. Not only do I miss the boys but I miss my hubs. I miss not talking to him on a regular basis. I miss the mundane little things we would share during the day.

This weekend was hubs semi-annual boys weekend on The White. The trip is taken twice a year (hence the term semi-annual) typically when the clocks change. This year the fall trip occurred a little early but not any less deserved. Although this is called a "fishing" trip, this is a time for hubs and 20 of his closets friends and relatives to drink, smoke, cuss, carry on, play cards, not shave for days, and if they have time they may do some fishing.

This trip just gave me one more thing to miss. Sleeping in the same bed as hubs. IT has already been an adjustment to not seeing him during the day, then I had to miss him at night for three nights! The irony of it is that when he is gone, I actually sleep better. I am the type that can pull back the covers and crawl in bed only to wake up in the exact same position as when I laid down. Makes making the bed in the morning very easy. When hubs is here it is not so simple. The covers are all over the place, he tosses, he turns, he snores, I sweat from the heat that radiates off his body. No wonder I don;t sleep well. I do have to admit I tend to stay up later when he is gone, I guess just procrastinating. Funny thing is I get up much earlier too; maybe in preparation for the boys as life is much easier if I am ready before they wake.

So I am torn, miss him and sleep well or have him and sleep poorly. Sleep is overrated I guess; I can sleep when I die.

Sleeping Single In A Double Bed

Hubs and I have been apart from each other very little in the eleven years we have been together. We met at work and began dating shortly after and then he stole my spare key. Not one that likes to cook, I didn't mind the spare closet taken over when I found out what a great cook he was. We carpooled because we worked together and then we started a business together that allowed us to work from home...you guessed it...together. Some ask us how we do it. I ask how others don't do it. Going back to work outside of the home this month has been very strange. Not only do I miss the boys but I miss my hubs. I miss not talking to him on a regular basis. I miss the mundane little things we would share during the day.

This weekend was hubs semi-annual boys weekend on The White. The trip is taken twice a year (hence the term semi-annual) typically when the clocks change. This year the fall trip occurred a little early but not any less deserved. Although this is called a "fishing" trip, this is a time for hubs and 20 of his closets friends and relatives to drink, smoke, cuss, carry on, play cards, not shave for days, and if they have time they may do some fishing.

This trip just gave me one more thing to miss. Sleeping in the same bed as hubs. IT has already been an adjustment to not seeing him during the day, then I had to miss him at night for three nights! The irony of it is that when he is gone, I actually sleep better. I am the type that can pull back the covers and crawl in bed only to wake up in the exact same position as when I laid down. Makes making the bed in the morning very easy. When hubs is here it is not so simple. The covers are all over the place, he tosses, he turns, he snores, I sweat from the heat that radiates off his body. No wonder I don;t sleep well. I do have to admit I tend to stay up later when he is gone, I guess just procrastinating. Funny thing is I get up much earlier too; maybe in preparation for the boys as life is much easier if I am ready before they wake.

So I am torn, miss him and sleep well or have him and sleep poorly. Sleep is overrated I guess; I can sleep when I die.

The Good Ol Days

Remember the good ol days when the only thing your mom made you wear while riding your bike was shoes? Some of use barely made it out the door with a shirt on and many time I would ride while wearing my swimsuit and tennis shoes. We didn't have to wear helmets; that was for wimps! Hubs and I thought it was funny, that while riding bikes at Nana's last week, the boys did not have to wear shoes but had to wear helmets!

The Good Ol Days

Remember the good ol days when the only thing your mom made you wear while riding your bike was shoes? Some of use barely made it out the door with a shirt on and many time I would ride while wearing my swimsuit and tennis shoes. We didn't have to wear helmets; that was for wimps! Hubs and I thought it was funny, that while riding bikes at Nana's last week, the boys did not have to wear shoes but had to wear helmets!

What Happens At The Backyardigans...

Must not be exciting enough for hubs. While Nana and I took Little Man to see the Backyardigans on Sunday, hubs was driving to the state line to get a new cat. Why did he drive to the state line and not to the north side of town you ask? Oh, you mean the north side of town where the Humane Society is located? Well, you see, we had a cat once. Picatso was her name. Hubs and I got Picatso on Valentine's Day in 2001. We were not cat people but really liked little Pic. She was just sassy and feisty enough for us and was super cute. She moved all over the country with us but we had to put her to sleep in Florida. We were about to move back to Missouri when we were told she had feline leukemia. It broke my heart but the vet said the trip back would be too much for her.

We tried to get a new kitty before The Babe arrived. Little Man was about 16 months old and the kitty was too jumpy and bit a lot. I got tired of hearing Little Man say "bite, bite". He got bit enough at daycare; he didn't need to worry about it at home. So Frankie the kitty went to "a friend".

Hubs and I have been debating a new kitty for a while. Little Man really wanted one and when a new one showed up at his friend's home he was dead set on it. Hubs said if it was going to happen then hubs would pick it out. OK fine. Hubs fell in love with a curly haired kitten on line at a Humane Society in Arkansas. The woman said she would even meet him half way; but if she were to go to that trouble we had to be sure. So, hubs drove to the state line and missed the Backyardigans but it was worth the delight on Little Man's face when we came home.

Little Man named our new family member Poco. I thought this was cute since that seems to be the name of all his stuffed animals. All except the two stuffed dogs. Those are named Suzie and Dimitri for my dad and step-mom's dogs.

Poco is such a good girl and the boys are very good with her. Little Man loves to play with her but is still very watchful of The Babe. Today the three of them were playing and Poco was getting excited. Little Man said "Poco, be careful with The Babe, he's my guy" and stepped in between the two.

What Happens At The Backyardigans...

Must not be exciting enough for hubs. While Nana and I took Little Man to see the Backyardigans on Sunday, hubs was driving to the state line to get a new cat. Why did he drive to the state line and not to the north side of town you ask? Oh, you mean the north side of town where the Humane Society is located? Well, you see, we had a cat once. Picatso was her name. Hubs and I got Picatso on Valentine's Day in 2001. We were not cat people but really liked little Pic. She was just sassy and feisty enough for us and was super cute. She moved all over the country with us but we had to put her to sleep in Florida. We were about to move back to Missouri when we were told she had feline leukemia. It broke my heart but the vet said the trip back would be too much for her.

We tried to get a new kitty before The Babe arrived. Little Man was about 16 months old and the kitty was too jumpy and bit a lot. I got tired of hearing Little Man say "bite, bite". He got bit enough at daycare; he didn't need to worry about it at home. So Frankie the kitty went to "a friend".

Hubs and I have been debating a new kitty for a while. Little Man really wanted one and when a new one showed up at his friend's home he was dead set on it. Hubs said if it was going to happen then hubs would pick it out. OK fine. Hubs fell in love with a curly haired kitten on line at a Humane Society in Arkansas. The woman said she would even meet him half way; but if she were to go to that trouble we had to be sure. So, hubs drove to the state line and missed the Backyardigans but it was worth the delight on Little Man's face when we came home.

Little Man named our new family member Poco. I thought this was cute since that seems to be the name of all his stuffed animals. All except the two stuffed dogs. Those are named Suzie and Dimitri for my dad and step-mom's dogs.

Poco is such a good girl and the boys are very good with her. Little Man loves to play with her but is still very watchful of The Babe. Today the three of them were playing and Poco was getting excited. Little Man said "Poco, be careful with The Babe, he's my guy" and stepped in between the two.

Cart Cardio

My sister in law told me today that she has lost 14 pounds since June by eating Weight Watchers. She has not added a workout routine to her lifestyle change just yet, but she is seeing results based on her current efforts. One of my friends works out at the YMCA nearly six days a week in her quest for fitness. My workout routine currently includes chasing my three year old and 20 month old around the house, park, pool, zoo, library, grocery store, bookstore, 1.5 acre yard, and of course, the kitchen. I am pleased with my results and decided to kick it up a notch. I now beat up hubs every night on Wii boxing. I had one boxing related injury that placed me on hiatus for a few days, but I am back at it. I have to tell you, if you are going to have a boxing marathon, make sure you wear shoes. I know how easy it is to get sucked into the game, but the soles of your feet will thank me later. I think I had some sort of hairline fracture in the ball of my left foot from all of my floating and stinging.

I think it is important to change up the workout routine to avoid boredom and plateau. My cousin in CA has recently changed his lifestyle including smaller portions and a drinking hiatus as well as his fitness routine. I saw him at a wedding in May and he looked amazing. Check out his routine. I am going to try it the next time I am at the store without the boys.

You wondered why we call it "Our Crooked Tree"....









This guy is crazy funny like this all the time. Imagine what Thanksgiving dinner is like!

Cart Cardio

My sister in law told me today that she has lost 14 pounds since June by eating Weight Watchers. She has not added a workout routine to her lifestyle change just yet, but she is seeing results based on her current efforts. One of my friends works out at the YMCA nearly six days a week in her quest for fitness. My workout routine currently includes chasing my three year old and 20 month old around the house, park, pool, zoo, library, grocery store, bookstore, 1.5 acre yard, and of course, the kitchen. I am pleased with my results and decided to kick it up a notch. I now beat up hubs every night on Wii boxing. I had one boxing related injury that placed me on hiatus for a few days, but I am back at it. I have to tell you, if you are going to have a boxing marathon, make sure you wear shoes. I know how easy it is to get sucked into the game, but the soles of your feet will thank me later. I think I had some sort of hairline fracture in the ball of my left foot from all of my floating and stinging.

I think it is important to change up the workout routine to avoid boredom and plateau. My cousin in CA has recently changed his lifestyle including smaller portions and a drinking hiatus as well as his fitness routine. I saw him at a wedding in May and he looked amazing. Check out his routine. I am going to try it the next time I am at the store without the boys.

You wondered why we call it "Our Crooked Tree"....









This guy is crazy funny like this all the time. Imagine what Thanksgiving dinner is like!